Father Mercy
by kura-wolfgoddess
Summary: Homeless and hopeless, Alfred is taken in under Arthur's tutelage, and learns to achieve his dreams and guide others in doing so. Yet, Malevolence threatens Al's newfound life and happiness, and Arthur must pick the price to pay for his friend's salvation. Can he end the suffering or will evil consume them both? USUK friendship (though slash is implied), drug use, suicide.
1. Prologue

Father Mercy

Gentle hands smoothed the coverlet, sliding up to embrace wrinkled fingers. Benevolent lips smiled at the parched life captured in those callused, leathery palms.

"Good evening, dearest," his voice was low, soothing the ears of the deaf and the minds of the comatose.

The room was still, silent, save for the echoing inhalation of the sleeping woman, her oxygen mask snugly strapped across her face. Little light peeked beneath the pulled shades, leaving the room in a pre-mature dusk. The man stood over her, contemplating the map of age on her face. His fingers lightly traced her vein perforated arms, pausing to rest over the stark IV bruises painted carelessly on her frail skin. A nurse bustled about the hallway, stopping to poke her head around the door to chirp a respectful greeting to the man. He smiled softly at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling lightly. She beamed back, lingering in the doorway, her task momentarily lost to his amiable smile. He tilted his head, a gesture of muted amusement, and she started with realization. With flushed cheeks she continued on her way, the door clicking quietly closed in her wake.

The man returned his gaze to the sleeping woman, expression drawn in sympathy.

"Well dear, it looks to be just the two of us this evening, but don't worry I'm far more competent than those maids. I will see that you are well looked after".

The man patted her hand lightly. He turned away, a frown tugging at his lips as he searched out a chair to pull to the bedside. He sat close with his arm draped across the railing to rest beside her withered wrist. Yes, this one was his to care for, this poor, wise grandmother left to the mercy of decay by her thoughtless children. For weeks he had seen her here, exactly as she was now, forgotten, collecting the must of age in the dried valleys of her pores, like an old book grown brittle from disuse and exposure to the chaotic elements of human hands.

But he was here now, here to grease the cracked spine and re-print the torn and missing pages.

A youthful finger traced the ridge of bone around her gaunt eyes. He took a moment to marvel at the beauty of the contrast; her dwindling life basking in the comfort of his vivacious limbs. His tender smile captured the beauty of the moment, a moment not soon forgotten. Graceful fingers slipped down her face, tracing the curve of the oxygen mask. In one quick gesture he tugged it down, leaving it to dangle limply along the jowly contours of her neck. Chapped white cracks ran in jagged, patternless lines over the deflated pout of her lips.

The results were instantaneous.

The chest rose and fell to an increasingly ragged tempo, great gasps of air straining the shriveled capillaries in her lungs. Her lips trembled gently with the effort, yet curiously enough, her features remained untroubled and still, closed eyes oblivious to the body's distress. A pallid peace hung over her, prepared to drape itself over her body. Anticipatory flutters rippled through it like a sheet dangling at the wind's mercy. The burden of life had been placed upon her chest, and it was evident that time did not favor her fight.

A touch of tedium lined suddenly tired eyes. This one was no different, a lost soul with a life lost in limbo, the balance tipped suddenly by his own designs.

Boring.

It was so easy, so infuriatingly_ easy_ to grab hold of that thread, the one by which her last breath dangled, to pull the ends taut or leave them listless, lifeless. There was no challenge to be found here. A polite frown pursed his lips.

This one didn't truly need him.

He patted her hand and adjusted the mask back into place. Her breathing began to steady, the rasp of oxygen once again filling the silent void. The pallor receded from her jaundiced skin, and he watched with a look of patronizing pity. This one was a disappointment, but he loved her all the same.

Yet, he was already here and saw little sense in finding another one for the evening.

Deftly, the mask was removed again, and again he watched with attentive compassion as she choked on the very catalyst of her own life until the white cracks of her lips became limned with blue.

Once more he repeated the process, yet this time replacing the mask with an air of finality. He stood as if to leave, but the wet glimmering sliver of color peering out beneath tired lids caught his attention. A weak ray of light flickered across the faded irises. Tired lips twitched in a familiar toothless smile, welcoming his strange company to stave off the loneliness the years had given her in return for her blood and breath. His silhouette eclipsed the stray sunbeams as he bent to press a kiss upon her hand, lips upon liver-spots.

"Rest, grandmother, I will come back tomorrow," his words hung in the gasping air, offerings of love to ease her slumber.

Then he was gone.


	2. Shades of Gray

First and foremost, I give a standing ovation to those of you who were patient enough to keep with the story (even through the re-write). Yeah, I know this doesn't have the scenes up through what the original had yet, but that's because I'm including several more scenes and expanding Mattie's time with Alfred.

Also, I know in the note I said that Francis would be the villain...yeah I changed it to Emil, because the character fit Emil's personality more and I didn't want Francis to be hopelessly OOC.

Again many thanks, and I hope you all enjoy.

Shades of Grey

Blue eyes gazed intently at the screen, hope welling up from the very depths of those oceanic pools. Crossed fingers were shoved deep into pockets. A nervous leg jittered along the sidewalk, setting a haphazard tempo.

_Transaction denied._

_Balance:$ 00.00_

The light vanished from those eyes, snuffed out and replaced with abject disappointment. Crossed fingers wrapped about each other even tighter than before, clinging painfully like fatalistic lovers. The jittering leg stilled, calves taut with pent up emotion. Tense and tired, they carried the young man away from the bank's drive thru ATM, along the busy streets, and back to a one room apartment. He snuggled into the nest of tattered sweatshirts, threadbare blankets, and towel rags.

Desperate blue eyes closed, shutting out the grey light of another grey day, allowing the young man to retreat to his grey thoughts.

.:p:.

Arthur ambled down the streets of New York City, a quiet, subtle spring in his step. Today was the start of the new term at the Art Institute of New York City, and the young man was excited to see all of the new faces. Hell, he even _smiled_ at a few of the passers-by, knowing full well he vaguely resembled a grinning maniac. The _rush rush_ of the crowd streamed around him, currents of hundreds of people with hundreds of places to go. The idea that all of these futures were mingling about him was a notion that struck awe into his heart; the very thought that his own influence could somehow alter these vibrant futures was both frightening and exhilarating.

Not that he'd ever admit it.

Merrily, he ducked into the entrance for the subway, weaving through the concrete corridors as if he had been born among them and not across the Atlantic. His goal oriented feet carried him over gum speckled tile and blackened grout lines, passed vendors, commuters, and performers. Not even the wafting stench that permeated the air and assaulted his senses could dampen his mood. He quickly reached the metro line he needed to arrive at the Institute.

His grin broadened as he noted several new faces loitering about, a few with apprehensive expressions. He looked forward to knowing the people behind the façades.

The sparkle in his emerald eyes dimmed as he took note of a particular young man who looked to be of a similar age to the college kids around him, yet he did not appear to share the same aspirations if the dour expression and unkempt appearance were anything to go by. Unruly blond hair stuck to his head at awkward angles, suggesting that the person to which it had belonged could barely spare the thought to tend it. The mismatched apparel appeared to agree with that assessment; Arthur couldn't think of a time when he was ever too rushed to pull on proper cold repellant clothes.

The train arrived and Arthur slipped into the closest car, bumping against another hasty boarder in the process. Luckily, he was able to quickly claim a seat, squirming in discomfort from the warmth of the previous occupant against his bum. The young man he had observed earlier took the seat next to him. Up close, Arthur noticed dark shadows under sleep glazed eyes. A smattering of determined blond stubble clung to a rounded chin.

The man obviously needed a place to rest, but had not inhabited the spot for less than a minute before ceding the burnt orange seat to an elderly woman. Lips curved upwards in a broad smile, the light twinkle in those blue eyes surprised Arthur as the woman offered a shaky but sincere, 'oh thank you, you sweet boy'.

Arthur gazed up at the profile of the young blond whose expression was once again filled with painfully honest weariness.

He found himself humbled.

.:p:.

_DripDrip._

_Drip._

Fatigued blue eyes cracked open to stare at the cracked ceiling.

_Drip._

Sluggish apathy filled his body, gripping him with spider web fingers, encasing him from head to pinky toe.

_Drip._

Grey-blue counted those cracks, mapping pictures where there were none.

_Drip._

In his mind he drew those pictures on crisp white paper, whiter than the calcium deposits that trickled down the walls and pooled in the pockmarked wood floors. He drew them with graceful black ink, darker than the mold that colonized the window sills and climbed up the walls to mingle with the calcium.

_Drip._

A low, rumbling growl startled blue eyes from their reverie. _Hello stomach._ Tapering fingers greeted their noisy companion with lazy caresses, reluctant to waste precious energy on enthusiasm.

He supposed he should get up.

Resigned legs twitched.

_Get up._

Azure slid toward the sagging doorframe.

_Get out._

Fingers fell to the floor, palms pressed flush against the wood, anchoring their counterparts.

_Just go._

With a sudden heave, twitching legs, determined azure, and anchored palms worked in tandem to push that tired body up.

_Drip._

Like a toddling child, he crossed the distance to the drip, drip, _dripping_ sink, cupped hands collecting enough water to splash across his face, shocking his system into awareness. Then out the door he went.

_Drip._

.:t:.

He wandered down the street, shoulders slouched and nose following the scent of food. His mouth watered at the delicious aromas that mingled in the biting Brooklyn morning air. He could die happy right now if only he could get that bacon, sausage, and egg biscuit from Micky D's.

Tired lips lifted briefly as blue eyes caught the excited shrieks and whines of children. He watched as a pair of children flanked their parents, imploring them with all the innocence in the world if they could pretty, pretty _please _look at the puppies in the petshop. No they wouldn't touch, they just wanted to look, they _promised_. An exchange of exasperatedly amused expressions and the troop headed with all the dignity they could manage to the chocolate brown puppy eyes and fluffy tails which announced their arrival to the entire shop. Mother trailed behind her children, fixing scarves and hats come askew, her loving hands smoothing snowflakes from their hair.

Not everything was grey. Some things were as bright as their light curls and pink mittens.

He chuckled softly before turning away, eyes catching the subway insignia on a nearby sign. The month long pass fished out of the grey slush earlier in the week had been a stroke of unprecedented luck, and he tried to ignore the plaintive guilt that coiled in his chest knowing that he was only stealing from another.

He aimlessly wandered the grime infested tunnels, taking turns at a whim. He found himself waiting for the SoHo train to arrive, casually perusing the gathering of what appeared to be art students. As much as he was loath to admit it, these bright eyed naive kids, kids that looked to be about his age, kids that shared his same dream, might just pity him enough to toss a few cents his way. Perhaps a day begg-no - _loitering_ by the college would amount to a plain burger from McDonald's, and maybe even enough for an accompanying fry.

God, he remembered the days when he would pick up kids for the same thing, bringing them back to the station to give 'em a lukewarm chocolate, nothing ever seemed hot at the police station. Even then the cells had been grey, cold and grey, their inhabitants' faces ashen from the harsh flickering fluorescent lights. After removing their dull handcuffs, he would search their faces for the good that he believed many of them contained somewhere deep inside, but there were some that he was glad to have locked away. Some who he had to come and wrestle away after listening to the distraught screams of roughed up wives, defiled partners, abused _children._ He savored putting those bastards away, and yet was saddened that a human being capable of kindness could be so heartlessly cruel.

The squeal of wheels against the rails announced the train's arrival, shattering his reminiscence. He set a brisk pace into the car, brushing shoulders with what he assumed was one of the art students. He knew that he shouldn't judge a book by its cover, but the column of earrings that lined the edge of a single earlobe, the style of his clothes, and those bright, expressive green eyes that seemed to glow with excitement, despite the mock scowl plastered on his face, laid the story out before him like a children's picture book.

Intrigued by those sparkling emeralds, he took the seat next to grumpy-but-not-really. He sat there a moment, but quickly relinquished it to a tottering old lady. He frowned at the crowd of mindless students who buffeted the poor woman around as she attempted to shuffle among them. She peered up at him from beneath a wide fur brim, beady but not unkind eyes shimmering with gratitude.

"Oh thank you, you sweet boy."

He nodded, his cheeks straining with the expansive grin that he found himself returning. He had come to the aid of his fair share of distressed grannies back in his old life, but he never tired of making them smile.

He got off at the Institute's stop, but invariably settled down in a doorway near the college, longing clear in those crystal blue eyes as he rested his gaze upon it and the café inside.

The day passed slowly, morning sun giving way to warm afternoon light which waned steadily behind skyscrapers and disappeared with a dim glow reflected back in his smudged lenses. He scrounged up a few dollars from the sidewalk, change that careless fingers had lost in between the cracks, an apt metaphor for his life. Evening's pervasive fingers crept up from the lengthening shadows, glacial tendrils crawling up his legs and arms.

He cast one last lingering look over his shoulder at the still lit building, spotlights highlighting the Institute's insignia. Numb legs began the trek back to the subway, grateful for the empty seats as most individuals were already snug at home. He sat slumped, hugging his threadbare shirt close against his skin, too absorbed in clinging to his body heat to notice the green eyes trained on his hunched figure.

.:p:.

Arthur yawned, stretching his shoulders with a satisfying _pop_. The first day was over; he was both relieved and a bit disappointed. He loved watching the surprise flash across his students' faces when they caught sight of him for the first time.

"You're..._Professor _Kirkland?"

Guarded surprise had blossomed into pleased grins. No doubt they had glanced at _Kirkland_ written on their schedule and imagined a dignified elderly gentleman in a dusty old suit complete with cravat and monocle, clutching a cup of Earl Grey in one hand and emphasizing his lecture points with a poorly baked scone in the other. A shudder of disgust danced down his spine at the thought. Though still the youngest on the Institute's staff, _Professor _Kirkland did his best to impress upon his students that he was not some green around the collar _fool_. He was, perhaps, a tad lenient on strict guidelines for art, and may have turned a blind eye on a few more outrageous designs, but he would not abide slackers in his class. He had said as much, using his native accent to add a pinch of promised doom to his warnings, gone over the class structure, and dismissed his class for the day.

He gathered his roster and a collection of signed syllabi before throwing on his gloves and heavy winter coat and dashing out the door, eager to cut his time short in the nippy air. He made record time to the metro, sliding through the doors at the last instant. He thanked his lucky stars for the scarcely populated car, reveling in the ability to stretch out his limbs.

His wandering, curious gaze traveled across the other passengers.

_Druggie, exhausted, trying to stay awake, sleep deprived azure, caffeinated fingers...wait? Sleep deprived azure...? Why do you look so familiar?_

It dawned on Arthur that those were the very same dull eyes that he had ever so discreetly espied that morning.

_I wonder where this poor bloke spent his day._

The day had taken its toll, the haggard hollows beneath his eyes darker than the Englishman could recall. Minute shivers appeared to play tag up and down his spine, visible even at Arthur's distance. A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth; he was beginning to suspect that the man hadn't simply forgotten or been too busy to throw on a jacket and some gloves. Emerald shifted away to observe the dirt speckled floor, feeling that he was somehow infringing on the young man's privacy.

Arthur swallowed awkwardly, made uncomfortable by his own comfort.

.:p:.

Tapering fingers rose to stifle a yawn. Lethargy clouded his eyes, sleep dragging his lids down with the same force of lead weights. The garbled voice over the intercom announced his stop, breaking him from his exhausted stupor. He pulled himself to his feet, wishing he had a hand to help him up and ease the weight of his own body. Back through the subway tunnels he trekked, plodding upwards past the entrance and along the streets of Brooklyn. Weary feet found their way back to the pathetic dwelling he halfheartedly called home, each step ingrained like instinct. His ragged shoes squelched on the cheap linoleum foyer of the apartment building.

_Squeak squeak_, his footsteps pierced through the empty silence that clung to the walls of the hallway for comfort. With the monotonous, robotic motions of bored experience, he brought his thawing fingers to wrap about the knob of the door he knew to be his own. A flash of powder pink caught his attention, tempting him to raise his gaze from the muddied tiles.

Notice of Eviction

_Several months have passed since your last payment and we regret to inform you, Alfred F. Jones, that you must vacate the premises no later than January 1, 2012._

Expressionless pale blue stared ahead.

_I guess not everything is grey here after all._

.:p:.

"Daddy! Daddy! Can Mo sleep with me tonight?"

Ludwig Beilschmidt looked over at his daughter with evident fondness.

"Not tonight sweetie, he's going to want to get used to his new home," Ludwig emphasized his words by scooping the Labrador puppy into his arms. He carried the squirming puppy to his daughter, crouching so she could scratch the new pet behind the ears and receive a few thankful sloppy kisses. His chuckles danced down the stairs, amused by her scrunched up expression of playful disgust and radiant joy.

"Alright, I think it's time the two of you little ones went to bed."

Ludwig stood, still cradling Mozart and took his daughter's hand to guide tottering steps up the stairs.

"Luddy!"

Elizaveta's voice echoed throughout the house, freezing her husband on the stair. Gentle banter and light laughter filtered after it from the dining room.

"Ja?" Ludwig pitched his own voice to carry downstairs.

"Nevermind! Emil's got it!"

Ludwig shook his head slightly, amused, but awaited his friend's appearance. Sure enough, mere seconds later, Emil joined him on the stair. Eric cuddled up to his godfather's neck, sparing his father the briefest of glances.

"Thanks Emil, you don't have to do this."

"Nonsense, I'm just as much his family as you are. Emily forgot her inhaler downstairs," Emil held the object out to his friend, dismissing Ludwig's polite protests, "I was just bringing it up when I was ambushed by this mighty warrior of yours."

Eric giggled, hiding his face, coaxing an adoring smile from his father. Ludwig shook his head.

"Maybe it would be best if I put the tyke to bed and you gave Emily her medication."

Emil murmured in agreement and shifted Eric against his hip, trading one child for the other. Eric pouted over Ludwig's shoulder, silently imploring the man to stay. Emil waved back at the little one, but turned away to regard his namesake. She too frowned up at him, though he suspected it was over the loss of the puppy whose cheerful yips echoed down the hall. Emily would never stand to be carried anymore, but she did allow Emil to take her hand. He led the exhausted child to her room, tucking her in neatly beneath the Princess covers before giving her yet another demonstration of how to use her inhaler and administering a bit of cold medicine. Elizaveta was concerned that Emily was beginning to develop a respiratory infection and intended to nip it in the bud before it developed into something more serious. Personally, Emil didn't share her worry, not yet.

Emily snuggled into her pillow, her little hands curled beneath her chin. Emil smiled, smoothing her hair back and dropping a lingering kiss to her forehead.

Such a little thing she was.

Tired, trusting eyes smiled sleepily up at him, pulling one of equal tenderness from her Godfather's lips.

"Good night, sweetling. Sleep well."

"Nigh' Uncle."

Emil clicked off the light, taking a moment to ensure that the covers were tucked securely around his sleeping charge. He contemplated her still form, ears taking in the even rhythm of her breaths. A slight chill crept up his arms. His eyes flicked to the window. Crossing the room on silent feet, his fingers ghosted over the window latch. Bars of moonlight illumined the pallor of his hand, watching as he lifted the pane. A cool breeze drifted curiously in through the inch gap. The curtains fluttered in a silent clamor of alarm.

Emil turned abruptly on his heel, slipping into the hallway unnoticed. The door closed reluctantly behind him. The hallway was dark, little Eric having already been put soundly to sleep. Emil paused, his gaze lingering on the stairs leading down into the welcome glow of his friends' hospitality. An odd sensation of guilt tinged anticipation coiled in his chest.

He turned away, his muffled footsteps carrying him to the master bedroom. He glided quietly through the room, passing the bed, the dresser, the bathroom by with sure feet. Onto the balcony he stepped, his hands pulling the chilled doors quietly closed behind him. He leaned against the frost-kissed railing, paying no mind to the winking moonlight skittering away from his touch. Compassionate eyes watched the shivering curtains framed in the window adjacent to him. The gap was a dark grimace, one that he could have reached across to tickle into a grin if he so chose. But he didn't. Practiced hands coaxed the cigarette from a packet extracted from his breast pocket. Flame leaped from his left hand to his right, sending shadows to dance across his features as he lit the cigarette.

Smoke began to trickle away from Emil's parted lips, rising and falling in the breeze. Rising and falling like the sleeping breath of the wind, tucked away in a bed of midnight clouds. He continued to smoke, his lungs relishing every poisoned tendril, drawing it deep within his chest. As the cigarette's glow began to dim, his ears caught the rasping desperation of choking coughs. His eyes closed, lips releasing a last puff of smoke. Darkness encroached as wind-blown clouds smothered the failing moonlight.

He sighed.

His body moved away from the railing with torpid grace, fingers leaving the cigarette behind, trailing stuttering wisps of smoke.

His steps were calm, controlled as he made his way back down the hallway, stilling outside of Emily's door. Within the coughs continued, rattling in her young chest. He slipped inside, quickly shutting the door. On the bed her little body struggled, the chaotic heaving of her chest sending the blankets trembling. He padded over with sure steps, snagging the inhaler which still rested innocuously on its side, just out of reach of her desperately grasping hands. Emil guided the inhaler to her mouth, pulling her into a sitting position against his chest in a single swift movement. Her shivering body curled into his warmth.

"Hush, hush, its ok, its fine, just breath."

Emil mimicked his own advice, allowing Lindsey to feel the strong rhythm of his breaths, enveloping her in a cocoon of calm solidity. He was her rock, her protector.

She needed him.

"Breathe just like this, alright? You're fine, I've got you," his voice warmed the cool air still slipping through the window.

Her tiny hands clutched his, drawing reassurance from his presence. Soon enough, her breathing began to calm, but still she held on to him. Emil cradled her in his arms, drawing her sweaty hair from her face and wiping chilled tears away with kind fingers. He hugged her for a moment longer, but soon put her back to bed, whispering assurances as he pulled the blankets back up to her chin. She gazed longingly up at his smile, not willing to relinquish the comfort of his arms. He bent to kiss her forehead and crossed the room to the window. He paused, inhaling the sweet scent of cigarette smoke. The slightest of smiles licked at the corners of his lips. Sure hands pulled the window back into place. The curtains stilled.

Emil turned back to the door, a rasping voice freezing him on the threshold.

"Thank you, Uncle".

He smiled.

"Of course sweetling. Sleep well."

Back down the hallway he went, throwing open the balcony doors, his steps blatant. He picked up the cigarette, watching the last struggling wisps of smoke rise into the night. He hummed in thought.

"Such a little thing".


End file.
